He's Broken
by rawriloveyou
Summary: Murdock had good days and bad days after his first ever crash. Unfortunately it's on one of his bad days that his father comes to visit. Oneshot prequel to If I Should Forget but no need to read.


He's Broken.

**A/N: Hi, this is a spin off from If I Should Forget, based on one of the things Murdock says during the story. You don't have to read that before this, but it might help. Also I am working on a sequel, but If I start writing it now I'll just want to keep writing, and really I need to be focussed on my exams next week. After that it'll be go go go! I just wrote this in a bit of spare time to keep the plot bunnies from getting overcrowded, sorry it's a little bit angsty.**

White walls, couldn't these places use a different colour? May be certain colours trigger things in people like this, may be white is safest. I wouldn't know; I'm no expert.

The walk isn't encouraging, although I've already been told everything about his condition by a rather tall, intimidating doctor. We pass people with prosthetic limbs; staring aimlessly into space, people who gabble; babbling at someone next to them who only they can see. I can't imagine him like this.

We reach room 27, an equally white door mounted on white hinges, with a name scribbled on a white board in black marker pen; they really do like monochrome, 'James Murdock.' I jolt when I see his name, somehow it makes this all more real. The nurse next to me, I've forgotten her name, smiles warmly.

"Are you ready?" She asks carefully.

Am I ready? I wonder. To see my only son, my only connection to my darling Marie, broken?

I nod, it's a lie really, but I can't stand here all day.

She opens the door. He's just as I remember him, from a year ago when he last visited home. Shaggy brown hair, his trademark red baseball cap stuffed over it. Relief washes over me, the only difference is the wheelchair, and they've told me his broken leg is almost healed. Apparently he just likes being able to race down the corridors.

But then he swings the chair around, his face and arms are littered with deep scars. His bloodshot eyes show no sign of recognition as he sees me.

"Captain Murdock," The nurse says kindly, I briefly wonder about the Captain, but I suppose it's familiar to him from being with the army in the most recent part of his life. "You've got a visitor," She gestures to me, speaking slowly, "Your father's here."

She sends me a meaningful look, which I know means, 'Speak to him.'

"Hey James," I say softly, usually I'd be more blunt with him, more manly, but he looks so delicate. I can't help it, I crouch down so I'm at eye level with him, hoping he doesn't find it patronising, "I've come to visit."

He frowns, and his head begins to sway, backwards and forwards as his eyes shut slowly. I open my mouth to speak to him again, but the nurse beats me to it.

"Captain Murdock," Her voice is sharp, it scared me slightly, it obviously means what he's doing is worrying her. "Don't go to sleep, you've got a visitor."

His eyes snap open, but he doesn't look at me, his eyes are focussed over my shoulder, no where near the nurse.

"You brought Billy back!" He exclaims, delighted.

Relief floods me once more, his voice; it's just so good to hear his voice, unchanged. I wonder who Billy is, looking behind me to see who or what I've missed.

As soon as my head is turned, just for that one second, I feel a strong hand gripping my shoulder. I turn back slowly, scared what I might see.

"You can see him too," He whispers leaning into me.

"I...I..." I stutter, "I don't..?"

"The dog," He says matter of factly, "His names Billy. I dunno where he came from; he just keeps following me around. They say he's not really there, but they took him away a few days ago," He looks up angrily at the nurse.

"Oh," I don't really know what else to say, "But they brought him back?"

James nods, his expression changing quickly as he smiles down at the floor.

"Captain Murdock," The nurse speaks calmly, slowly, "This is your father, he's here to see you."

"James, James," Finally he looks at me, really seeing me. He rises from my chair as I rise from my crouch.

"Dad?" His voice shakes as he speaks, he's looking at me like he can't quite believe I'm there.

"Yeah, it's me James," I grin, "How're you doing?" It's a stupid question, he's recently crashed an aircraft for the first time, been taken to a POW camp with four other close friends who didn't make it. And now he's here, to stay for the indefinite future. But I don't know what else to say at the moment.

He grins, it's familiar, it's my favourite expression in the entire world. But it turns sour, that grin that looks so much like his mothers, it twists into a grimace, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Nigel," He mutters softly to me, staring straight into my eyes.

"May be you should come back later Mr. Murdock," The nurse speaks up suddenly, not taking her eyes off my son. A lump rises in my throat; I can guess what's happening.

"I didn't mean to Nigel, they were firing at us," He starts to garble, still staring straight at me. I try to walk away, not wanted to see, but he grabs my shoulders again. This time it's rough. He's strong, he's a ranger; and I'm not as fit as I used to be. For the first time in my life I feel the way no father should feel. I'm afraid of my son.

"The rotors were gone, I tried to manoeuvre us to land somewhere safe," His eyes widen in horror, "I landed us in enemy territory. It was everywhere, there was nowhere else I could have gone Nige. Honestly." He begins to shout, quickly becoming hysterical, shaking my shoulders as he yells right into my face, "It's not my fault we landed there. I tried not to. It's not my fault they shot at us. It's not my fault they tortured us. It's not my fault you're dead!"

The silence that follows seems to echo. It's deafening. He looks away from me, shame and guilt shining in his eyes. I feel pity rise up within me.

"Do you want to come back later?" The nurse asks more softly this time, I notice two men have joined us and I'm sure they're here just in case they're needed to restrain James. But I'm not giving up on him this easily; after what he's been through, as far as I'm concerned, he's allowed to be like this.

"Jamie," I use the nickname reserved just for me and his mother, and his head snaps up. I take that as a good sign.

"Hey Jamie, it's Dad."

"Dad?" He looks confused, "What are you doing here?"

"You're in hospital James, but when you get better you'll be able to come home with me. I promise I'll come visit you as much as I can." I feel like I'm speaking to a six year old, but at least he's reacting.

"That'd be," He coughs, his voice hoarse, "That'd be nice."

"D'you want me to bring some of your things from home?"

Tears begin to stream down his face all of a sudden, "Where's mum?" He demands, "Why hasn't she come to visit. I miss her."

"I do too," I admit softly, going to wrap my arms around him.

"But she's at home," James insists jumping back, "She's been with you while I've been away."

"Jamie," I look to the nurse desperately, but she's watching James. Tears prick my eyes, I remember having to tell him, I'd never expected I'd have to do it again, "She's dead son. She died when you were five. I'm really sorry son."

"No," He shook his head, "No, no, no, no, no." His head continued to shake, over and over again. He limped over to his small, barred window, "No, no, no, no, no." He kept repeating his denial, refusing to believe. He raised his fist, and began to twist it between the rusty iron bars over the windows. The rust cut his arm and a stream of blood began to drip from it but he didn't react.

He slams his fist against the window with a disappointing thud, he tries to pull his arm back desperately, cutting his arm again and again. Then the yelling starts, screaming at the top of his lungs, it's disturbing. I watch with a horrified curiosity.

Anger swells within me. Whoever did this, whoever did this to him; I hope they suffer. If I ever meet them, or...coherent thought flies out the window as blind fury takes its place.

"Billy stop barking!" He's yelling at the floor near my feet, "Billy you're making my head hurt!"

"James, James it's ok, don't panic," I try to comfort him but I am completely ignored as he finally pulls his arm free and screams incoherently once more.

The men step forward to intervene, trying to restrain him. I notice one of them has a syringe, I want to shout out, warn James, make him stop, but I can't. Deep down, where I can't even admit it to myself, I know he needs the sedative.

I can't watch anymore, I turn and leave.

I'll come back tomorrow, I promise myself, just as I promised James. But I don't. I'll go the next day. But I don't. I'll go next week. But I don't, because that's not my son in there, stuck in that room, most likely for the rest of his life, not really, not anymore. He's broken, and I don't think anyone will ever be able to fix him.


End file.
